


Ephemeral

by Verecunda



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Allusions to PTSD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They can never recapture the past, but that doesn't stop what they have now from being, well, spiffing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ephemeral

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the _Horrible Histories_ books or TV series.
> 
> A/N: Written for the HH anon meme.

Maltravers had fretted, worried that Blenkinsop’s leg wouldn’t be up to it, but Blenkinsop insisted, and so after breakfast they packed a hamper and set off across the fields, just like they used to do almost every day of those summer holidays when Blenkinsop had stayed with Maltravers and his family in their little cottage on the outskirts of the village.

After coming home they’d needed somewhere where they could just be together without attracting talk, somewhere peaceful and removed from the constant _noise_ of London, and the cottage had been the obvious place. It was the one place where the good memories could eclipse the bad. 

Coming back had been strange at first, seeing the village exactly the way they remembered it, sleepy and safe, whilst they’d both gone to hell and back during those four years in the trenches. But now, as they crossed the fields, a light breeze in the air and the sky brilliantly blue above them, the hamper swinging between them as they held a handle each, Blenkinsop fancied that for a moment it was the old days, when they were boys and war was just something you read about in books, and there was nothing in front of them but the adventure they’d planned for that day.

They walked in companionable silence until they reached their destination, both of them simply taking comfort from the other’s presence. Then they crested the low hill, and there it was, in the middle of the meadow, the old, twisted oak tree. _Their_ tree. It looked the same, too.

Blenkinsop turned to Maltravers with a grin. “There it is.”

Maltravers smiled back. “Just like the old days, what?”

Of course, it wasn’t like the old days. Back then, they would have raced from here to the tree, Blenkinsop easily outstripping Maltravers with his longer legs - at least until he got a huge stitch in his side - but that wasn’t going to happen now, not with his leg. So they walked down the hill and across the meadow instead, savouring the smell of summer grass around them and the sound of birdsong overhead.

When they reached the tree, Blenkinsop spread out the old picnic blanket, whilst Maltravers unpacked the hamper. Sandwiches, apple pie, and two flasks. “One tea, one coffee,” said Maltravers, with a decidedly mischievous smile. Blenkinsop grinned, and pretended to thwack him around the head. Maltravers knew only too well that he could never choose between tea or coffee when faced with both.

“You know, old chap,” said Maltravers, “you could always have both. Treat yourself a bit, what?”

Blenkinsop laughed. “Capital idea, Maltravers.”

They polished off the sandwiches and the apple pie quickly enough, even though it wasn’t quite lunchtime. After that, stomachs full and satisfied, they stretched out on the blanket side-by-side, staring up at the sky, shoes and socks off, fingers barely touching, the way they’d done when they were younger and still unsure of what was between them. Then they turned their heads at the same time and shared a smile. Blenkinsop felt his heart twist at the sight of Maltravers’ blue eyes and the faint flush across his cheeks. He stretched his hand out at the same time as Maltravers did, their fingers intertwined, and they closed the distance between them and cuddled up together, arms wrapped around each other as they smiled into each other’s eyes.

Blenkinsop reached out to run his fingers through Maltravers’ sun-warmed hair. Maltravers hummed contentedly and snuggled closer to his side. “Mmm. That’s nice. Have to admit, this was a spiffing idea.”

Blenkinsop chuckled, and stroked the shell of his ear. “Told you.”

Even down here in the dappled shade beneath the branches, it was warm and still, and it wasn’t long before Maltravers dozed off, snoring very lightly, his head pillowed on Blenkinsop’s arm. Blenkinsop stayed awake, smiling as he looked at him. Sleeping, he looked almost the way he had in the old days, peaceful and careless. He pressed a kiss to Maltravers’ temple and closed his eyes, surrounded by the scents of Maltravers’ hair and the warm scents of summer. The only sounds were the light rustle of the leaves overhead and the drone of a nearby bee. An overwhelming sense of peace came over him, and he rested his head against Maltravers’, settling down to catch forty winks himself.

Before he could drift off, however, he felt Maltravers twitch and shift slightly in his arms, bringing him back to full consciousness with a rush of concern, and no small amount of helpless frustration. It was something there were used to now, but it just wasn’t _fair_...

“Maltravers.” He took his shoulder and shook it gently. “Maltravers, wake up, old bean...”

Maltravers’ eyes blinked open, and his hand fumbled for Blenkinsop’s own, giving it a squeeze as if to reassure himself that he was really there. Blenkinsop squeezed back in confirmation and drew Maltravers closer with his other hand.

“There,” he murmured, stroking his hair gently and kissing the top of his head. “It’s all right, Maltravers. Just a dream. It’s all right, I’m here...”

“Sorry,” Maltravers mumbled into his neck.

“Not at all,” Blenkinsop replied.

He held Maltravers until he stopped trembling, and cast his mind to before, years back, when if one of them had a nightmare he’d sneak into the other's bed and they’d cosy up together until the bad dream had passed. But now these were bad dreams that never really would pass, and while Blenkinsop wished he could do more, all he could do was hold Maltravers and wait for the worst of it to subside.

“I love you, old bean.” It was one of those moments where it just had to be said.

Maltravers smiled, his eyes clearing. “I love you, too, old fruit.”

Blenkinsop brought his hand up to stroke Maltravers’ cheek, then leaned in and pressed their lips together. Maltravers gave a sigh of pleasure and pressed closer, his warm mouth moving eagerly against Blenkinsop’s own.

It occurred fleetingly to Blenkinsop that it had been underneath this same tree where they’d had their very first kiss, all those years ago. Back then, neither of them had any clue what they were supposed to be doing, and it had been clumsy and embarrassed, lips bumping and tongues doing God knows what, heads tilting all the wrong ways and hands utterly unsure what they should be doing.

Now - many years and many, _many_ kisses later - they had a much better idea of what to do, and they slipped easily into their rhythm, Maltravers’ lips coaxing Blenkinsop’s open. Blenkinsop hummed happily, his hands grabbing Maltravers’ arms as the kiss deepened, warm and slow and achingly perfect.

When at last they drew away to catch their breath, Maltravers smiled and said, “You know, you really are a spiffing fellow.”

Blenkinsop smiled back. “Thanks, old bean.”


End file.
